Comfort and Care
by Spiritus Scriptor
Summary: Orianne Duval, a young woman with no future prospects, is traveling across France in search of employment. Eventually, she finds herself in a little village outside of Rouen, where she is met with the offer of being a nursemaid to a supposed monster. She accepts, leaving her emotions and heart to guide her in the care of little Erik. Kay-based.
1. Chapter 1

It was nearing midnight when I reached the quiet town of Saint-Martin-de Boscherville just outside of Rouen. I had come all the way from Bordeaux, where I had lived until my mother had so recently died. My father, having little money, sent me on my way. I knew it was for the best. Though he was old and ailing, he had my well married-off elder sister to look after him. As for me, no prospects could be found that suited his intense scrutiny. I was the oddball of my family, the one my father wanted to see educated rather than married. My father had written a letter to a wealthy cousin in Dijon, explaining his wish that I join his household and be privately tutored. The cousin replied, telling him his request was outrageous and the only use he could think of for an unmarried girl of nineteen would be a chambermaid to his wife. Rather than have me endure such a fate, my father gave me his blessing and sent me on my way.

Knowing full well it was dangerous for an unmarried woman to travel alone, I kept to the main roads, walking by day and making sure I found an inn by nightfall. It had taken me nearly three weeks to reach Rouen; I had bypassed Paris altogether. I had asked about employment in every village and city I'd been to thus far and received replies that there were none. I had not the heart to ask in Paris, I would hate to have traveled so far to such a large city and had door after door slammed in my face. No one wanted me for anything, not even a tavern wench.

And so it was that I found myself in Boscherville, as it was called by the locals. Rouen had been the final straw. I had been turned away at a _brothel_, for heaven's sake. I was certain I had enough remaining money to travel as far as England, and that is what I intended to do. But first, I needed sleep.

The inn I found was small but comfortable. I was treated kindly and given a hot meal. The old innkeeper seemed to know I needed company, and after the last tavern customer had left for the night, he crossed the room to the table where I sat and instantly engaged me in conversation.

"What's a pretty lass like you doing traveling all alone? Haven't you a husband?"

"No, Monsieur. My mother died and ever since my father has been too preoccupied to find me a suitable match." I took a sip of wine to bolster my strength. I had never discussed this before, and was unsure of how much I should tell him.

"Ah, that's a shame." he replied sadly. "Where are you from?"

"Bordeaux."

"That's a long way from here. How did you end up so far from home?" He seemed genuinely concerned about me, which was probably the only reason why I kept talking.

"I've been looking for work and found none, so I'm on my way to England. To start a new life." I paused. "There wouldn't be any employment here, would there?"

"Well, actually…there just might be."

These were the words that would change my life forever.

"You must understand, mademoiselle. I did not expect for you to accept this offer of help." The innkeeper rubbed his thumbs over his closed eyes and sighed. It was nearing two o'clock and I had been begging him to tell me what the job was. He finally complied, and poured us both tall glasses of wine. He said it would numb the shock.

"Why did you not take me seriously?" I asked. "I would not have traveled this far if I did not need the work."

"You would not want this job, if there even is one to have."

"Monsieur," I placed my hands flat on the table and boldly looked him in the eyes. "I asked for work in a brothel in Rouen and was turned down. Do you really think I wouldn't take a difficult job?"

"All right." he sighed. "At the far end of town, there is an old stone cottage where a young widow lives. She has but one friend to help her in this dark time in her life. She also has an infant son."

"And she needs a nursemaid?"

"Mademoiselle Perrault, her friend, has given that indication. She was an acquaintance of my late wife. We see each other every Sunday at Mass."

"Why is this job so terrible? It seems simple enough."

He paused. "The child…the child is rumored to be a monster, mademoiselle. He and his mother have been ostracized from the village. No one but the village priest and Marie Perrault will go near them. A pity for the mother. Everyone knew and loved her."

I was shocked, but not surprised. Small towns like this were very superstitious. "Do you know who I could talk to about this?" I asked.

He thought for a bit, then suggested I talk to Father Mansart, the priest. "He ought to be able to judge whether it would be a wise idea. But in the meantime, you should rest. You've had a long journey and should regain your strength before pursuing this. You'll need it."

"Thank you, Monsieur. Good night."

It was only when I was upstairs that I realized I had spent more money on my dinner than I intended. I could no longer afford passage to England.


	2. Chapter 2

**Ok...I think I've figured this out. I would like to point out that I am almost completely unfamiliar with modern technology and therefore progress with this story and mastering the Doc Manager thingie may be slow, so bear with me. **

**The story thus far: We've been introduced to Orianne, who seems incredibly down on her luck and has the habit of telling people more than she should...which may have already gotten her in trouble. We shall see...*dun dun dunnn***

**Disclaimer: I own nothing related to this story. Though I do have every Phantom-related book known to man, including the Forsythian nightmare known as Phantom of Manhattan. *shudder***

**BTW: I used Claudin as Erik's last name. It's his last name in the 1943 movie version. I have no idea where everybody keeps getting Destler from. And I'm certainly not using Mulheim.**

Father Mansart was a balding man of about fifty who looked worn from hearing years of confessions and doling out penances. He met me at his little house behind the church where he lived in humble piety. I found this rather strange. Most priests in Bordeaux were anything but humble and pious.

"My child, I must admit that I am surprised at your offer. None have come to help Madame Claudin in her time of need. She lost her husband at such a young age. They weren't even married a year. And then her child…when she first saw him, she wished them both dead. I was there to baptize him the night he was born. The girl questioned if it was a cruelty not to feed him."

I was taken aback. What mother would not want to feed their child? "Surely he is not monstrous as everyone says?"

"You are not a local." he stated, rather than asked. "Everyone in the village fears the child, and condemns the mother as a witch." He paused. "She is young and misguided. She only pays attention to all that is beautiful."

"So…the child is ugly."

"More than that. Madame Claudin's previous housemaid fled the house the night of the birth and came to fetch me. When she reached my doorstep she was pale and trembling and refused to go back."

I could not believe I was hearing this from a priest. "Do you think it would be wise to offer my services?" I asked.

"I do not think Madame Claudin would be accepting of your help, but perhaps if I accompanied you, she might change her mind."

And so, I found myself journeying to the edge of town accompanied by the priest. As I got further and further away from the village proper my sense of dread grew. How awful was the sight which I would inevitably be shown? I steeled myself and vowed not to scream.

Before I could think twice, Father Mansart knocked on the door.

He turned to me. "Are you sure you want to do this, my child?"

"I've run out of options." I replied.

A very pretty girl answered the door. She appeared to be younger than me. Her auburn hair was well-coifed and she wore a gown of the latest fashion.

She wrinkled her perfect brow as soon as she saw me. "Good day, Father Mansart. I see you've brought a visitor."

"This is Mademoiselle Orianne Duval. She has consulted me about offering her services as a housemaid to you and a nursemaid to Erik."

"I can manage the housework on my own, but if she wants to be a nursemaid to the little…" she caught herself, "to Erik, she's perfectly welcome. Would you care to come inside, Mademoiselle Duval?"

"Shall I leave?" asked the priest. He leaned in to her and said in a low voice, "Madeleine, it is God's grace that brought her here. Just remember that."

"I will, Father. Thank you." She closed the door behind him and turned to me. "So, mademoiselle, where are you from? You cannot be a resident of Boscherville."

"From Bordeaux, Madame. My mother has recently died and I was making my way to England."

"You would have been better off," she remarked. "Why did you stop here?"

"I…I need sufficient money for passage, Madame."

"So I am to expect you to stay only long enough to get it?"

"That depends."

She placed a hand on her hip and glared at me with steely eyes. "On what?"

I stumbled for an answer. "Well…if I find I am comfortable enough, I may stay. And I think my English needs improvement before I cross the water. I could not possibly make my way as it is now."

"Hmm…" she gathered her thoughts. "I am prepared to make a deal with you. As payment, I will start by giving you lessons in English. When you've made satisfactory progress, and if Erik is no longer entirely dependent on you, I shall start paying money."

She was sly, and she knew she had me right where she wanted me. I should not have told her anything more than my need for money. But then, she probably still would have figured out a way to cheat me. But I did not protest. I had gotten what I wanted.

"Very well," I replied. "When would you like me to start?"

"Today, if you can." She turned and proceeded up the stairs. "Shall I show you to Erik's room?

She led me up to the attic and pushed open the door. A small dog sat by the cradle, half asleep. When it saw us, it began growling.

"Oh, Sasha, must you do that?" Madame picked her up and carried her out into the corridor, closing the door before the dog can get back in. "I sometimes wonder if she thinks she is the thing's mother." She led me over to the cradle and folded back the blanket, revealing a skeletal baby with an untied mask over its face. "Now, Mademoiselle, I must ask that you prepare yourself for a shock. If you can, try not to scream. He will wake and then you will see how truly horrible he is."

"Madame, why is he so thin? Do you not feed him?" I wondered if she had not taken the Father's advice and was not caring for him at all.

She sneered. "He rarely eats if I try to."

"Have you thought that he might be ill?"

"He's been like that since he was born." Looking wistful, she added, "I pray every day that he will soon die."

"What?!" I gasped. "Why—"

She cut me short. "Do you wish to keep your job? Then let me show you…"

And with that, she removed his mask.

**Will she run? Will she scream? Maybe both? Tune in whenever I get around to updating for the next exciting episode! In the meantime, reviews are appreciated.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks for the reviews! You have truly made my night!**

**I seem to be getting better at this formatting thing.**

**Oh, and...**

**NewBornPhantatic: I sort of went along with the fan art versions of Erik as a baby, along with the book description. Also, I have never seen the 1988 Phantom...not so much into horror (oh, the horror!). Which explains why I'm taking a more emotional approach to this story. EEK.**

**L.L. : I was waiting for a story like this too! Sadly, I never found one... so I decided to write my own :)**

**Dislaimer: I own some really cool crap. But no copyrights. Those belong to Kay.**

**And now, on with the show...er, story.**

I neither gasped nor screamed. The sound that issued from my lips was more a yell of horror, much like one might utter after burning their hand on a hot stove. As promised, the baby woke and began to cry. Usually, there is no distinct emotion in a baby's cry. This child, however, gave a long, sorrowful wail that pierced the silence. It broke my heart.

"Oh, God…" I breathed, and crossed myself before peering into the cradle again. His sunken, skeletal face was contorted as he wailed. His eyes were sunken deep in the sockets and tears flowed down the sides of his face.

"I don't envy you," Madame said before she left the room, leaving me alone with the child.

I had become nursemaid to something truly not of this earth

However horrible he was, I could not bring myself to hate him. I eventually gathered my courage and picked him up to comfort him. Tears formed in the corners of his eyes as I drew him close.

"Shh," I soothed. "It's all right. I'm sorry." I don't know why I felt the need to say it. What I did know was that little Erik was not a monster, just a small, neglected child who needed love and attention. From what I could see, his mother gave him neither. She had complained of him crying and claimed he only did when he was hungry. I had been in this house for less than an hour and already I could see that none of his needs were met. He was unclothed save his mask and a diaper that was fastened with straight pins and looked as though it hadn't been changed for days. His back was covered in a rash from lying unmoved in the cradle day and night. Beneath the mask, raw patches of skin bled and scabbed over. I could not begin to imagine the pain he was in.

Aside from that, the cradle itself was filthy. The linens gave off the unholiest of smells and were stained with blood and urine, and something else that may have been vomit. It was no wonder Erik was ill and thin, if he spent all his days in that. I would not stand for this. Outraged, I stormed down the stairs to confront Madeleine.

I found her sitting comfortably on the divan, fanning herself and reading a book, with the dog under her footstool.

"Madame," I began. "Are you aware that your son has a terrible rash? And that his bed linens have gone unchanged for God knows how long, and that he has been sitting in his own excrement?"

At the last word, she cringed and replied, "He is no longer my concern."

"Who had been taking care of him until I arrived?"

"Marie generally does. But she has been away this week and I cannot bring myself to go near him." She sniffed and took a sip of her drink that was on the side table. This woman disgusted me unduly.

A blind fury overcame me, and I could not disguise the anger in my voice. "Madame, he is an _infant_. He cannot care for himself."

"You'll forgive me if I was under the impression that was your duty now." She sneered. Clearly, she failed to understand my point. Father Mansart had been right in that she was concerned only with beauty, but I had not expected this. She was not only vain and superficial, but uncaring and cold as well. I had the feeling she committed all of the seven deadly sins on a daily basis.

"Very well. And if I am to begin my duties, the least you could do is show me where things are in this house. A washtub, for instance. Surely you have one. And bed linens, diapers, and Erik's clothes."

She twisted her mouth in an irritated fashion. "You'll find a copper washtub in the scullery. Linens, in the wardrobe at the end of the corridor upstairs. As for Erik's clothes…he has none but the mask. I must have overlooked them."

It was nearly winter and the attic was frigid. He would need clothes and soon. I and my mediocre sewing skills would have to provide them, it seemed. After my exchange with the infuriating mistress of the house, I set about fetching what I needed. A blanket I found in the wardrobe would have to serve as a garment for the time being.

I lugged five kettles of warm water up to the attic and filled the washtub, changed the bed linens, and set about bathing Erik. He remained silent and calm as I gently rubbed his skin with mild soap and a soft cloth. He was strangely cold to the touch, but it was almost freezing up here. Frost gathered on the windowpanes as an icy wind blew. Erik waved his arms about and splashed in the water. When I removed him from the tub to dry him, he wrapped his little arms around my neck and cooed. Perhaps it was because this was possibly the first time he had ever smiled in his life, but I knew at that moment that I loved this little boy.

**Aww, bonding time!**

**Yeah, it's fluffy and cute. But who doesn't need a little of that once in awhile?**

**I tried to make baby Erik endearing...does it work?**

**And Madeleine just...ugh. At least we have Orianne to put her in her place :)**

**as usual, reviews appreciated! **


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello folksies! Thank you so much for all the reviews! I wasn't expecting that many for just three chapters. I would love to reply to you, but so far only one has logged in :(**

**So...about this chapter. It comes across as kind of weird, possibly because I wrote it at 3 am after having had about fourteen cups of coffee and working on a pedantically detailed final paper and presentation for a public speaking class I was taking...but it's finally over. Glory hallelujah. **

**In short, apologies if this chapter makes zero sense**

**With this one I tried to get a little bit more of Madeleine's personality across while adding in my own twist of her completely losing her marbles. In the book she's kind of cuckoo for cocoa puffs near the end of her chapter, what with singing to a doll (or statue?) and having Erik play mind games with her...that part always seemed off to me that she would suddenly go nuts, so I made her a little predisposed to marble-losing. **

**FYI: I know this story has been kinda fluffy so far, but it's really hard to have no fluff in the more Erik-centric chapters...after all, he's a baby. He cries and gets hurt and gets in trouble. And Orianne is sympathetic. Hopefully later chapters will be less cheesy as he gets older.**

**And after all that rambling, here we go:**

* * *

It had been nearly a week since I began working in the Claudin household. True to form, Madeleine often ordered me to do some trivial housework to avoid spending too much time with Erik, though she herself had said she could manage the household herself. The English lessons she had promised me had not yet been offered, and I was reluctant to ask.

When I was not scrubbing pots and dishes in the scullery or beating the dust from rugs, I retreated to the attic bedroom where I now lived as well. My being a live-in maid was decided after a heated exchange of words at the end of that trying first day. There was no boarding house in the village and I dreaded going back to the inn. Everyone in this small town surely knew where and how I was employed. I hated to think that I would be shunned as well, but it was to be the price I paid for ensuring that my young charge did not die at the hands of a negligent mother.

Erik's wounds had healed with the help of a salve I purchased from the apothecary, and he was now in possession of a few crude garments resembling christening gowns that I had fashioned to fit his unusually small frame. Though he was still skin and bones in appearance, I was able to get him to eat. Madeleine, of course, refused to do so herself. However, there were no bottles in the house, so I had to make do with a glass, which proved more than difficult.

It hadn't taken me long to see that Erik was an extraordinary child. He couldn't have been more than a few months old and already he could walk a bit. But instead of praising his quick learning, he had been banished to a filthy cot. He was a timid child, but once he lost his fear he began to speak as well. One night when I put him to bed, he suddenly reached up and grabbed the end of my braid in his tiny fist.

"Rianne!" he cried. For a moment, I stared in disbelief.

"Orianne." I replied.

"O…rianne!" he sounded it out. "Orianne!"

How could this be? I was astounded. Little did I know, I was about to reveal my weak side yet again, just when I had learned to care for him.

His little fists clenched and unclenched a few times as though he were beckoning me. "Kiss?" he asked.

I should explain that I left him unmasked most of the time, especially since his face was still healing. I leaned in to give him a kiss goodnight, but found that I could not. The sight of that thin, vein-riddled translucent skin and lack of a nose still put me off at such proximity. Instead, I kissed my fingers and laid them on his forehead.

"Goodnight, _chérie_. Sleep well." I murmured.

I went to my bed across the room and knelt at my bedside, asking God to forgive my cruelty and grant me the strength to love as I should, without judgment. Then I lay down, staring blankly at the beams above my head until I fell asleep.

* * *

Later that week, we received an unexpected visitor. It was mid-morning, and I had just finished preparing Madeleine's breakfast when a knock sounded at the door. Wiping my hands on my apron, I strode out of the kitchen to answer it.

A small, plain, nervous-looking woman with a shock of bright red hair stood on the step. This, then, must have been Marie Perrault.

"Come in, Mademoiselle. I'm afraid Madame is still abed, but you may wait for her in the parlor, if you like."

She gazed at me with wide eyes and clutched my hand as she stepped over the threshold. "So you are Mademoiselle Duval," she breathed in a faint voice. "God be praised. Thank you. Madeleine has finally come to her senses."

"I was about to take her breakfast up to her," I said. "So if you'd care to wait…"

"Oh, nonsense." she interrupted. "We lived in a dormitory together for years. I've seen her in her dressing gown countless times."

"I'll tell her you're here, but I don't think she'll be inclined to breakfast downstairs."

I climbed the stairs and knocked on Madeleine's door.

"Madame, Mademoiselle Perrault is here. She is waiting downstairs. I think she has something urgent to discuss."

"If it's so important, she should know that I don't wake until eleven." came the response from behind the door. "Tell her to go away."

"Madame…"

Suddenly, the door was thrown open and she faced me in all her half-asleep fury.

"If you ever wake me up again, you will be dismissed. Is that understood?" she growled.

"Yes, Madame."

She stuck up her nose, strode past me, and stomped down the stairs, immediately launching into a tirade of unintelligible shrieks directed at the hapless Marie. I realized I had left her breakfast tray in the kitchen and went to fetch it. The moment I stepped into the parlor, she turned her attention from Marie, who was at that point cowering on the divan, to me. With a single movement, she knocked the tray from my hands and into my face, scattering food across me and the floor. Having no idea what prompted this, I could only assume it was her revenge for my waking her up too early.

"Madeleine, for heaven's sake!" cried Marie, who dared not stand to face her.

"Clean that up and then go change your clothes." Madeleine commanded, a pleased smirk on her face.

I nodded and began mopping egg off the carpet with a tea towel. My face stung from having a plate flung into it, but I lingered as long as possible to hear what they were talking about.

"You must not treat her that way. She came here to care for Erik, not you. You're nearly eighteen, you should be caring for him yourself instead of having the poor girl wait on you!" Marie cried.

"I didn't ask her to come here! Father Mansart foisted her upon me!" the other shrieked. "I certainly didn't need her help, if you can even call it that. All she does is sit up in the attic with that thing, singing to him, rocking him to sleep, and accusing me of not caring for him! I employed her as a housemaid, since the last refused to stay on after that monster was born!" A deliberate lie. I would have stood up and challenged her had I not known that doing so would cost me my position. I felt my face redden with anger and gritted my teeth as I used what self-restraint I had left to keep from howling with rage. From upstairs, Erik began to cry. Acting on reflex, my head turned in the direction of the stairs.

"You see!" Madeleine roared "One cry from him, and she rushes to his aid. Me? I have to tolerate a crying monster day and night, and now a lazy, slovenly housemaid!"

Marie mustered her courage, strode over to me, and pulled me up by the elbow. "Go to him," she said in a low voice. "I'll clean up."

"Orianne, stay right where you are!" barked Madeleine. "I will not have you inconveniencing my guests!"

"She is his nurse, not yours. Why don't you clean your own mess?"

Madeleine drew a breath and struck the timid woman across the face. "Fine! You clean it, then! Orianne, you're free to tend to your little darling."

Without a word, I hurried from the room. I feared that this was to be the first of many incidents of this kind.

* * *

**Weird ending. Kinda nonsensical now that I'm off the caffeine...maybe I wrote my frustrations into the story. Just a tad. Anyway, now I'm free to write and should be able to actually get somewhere with the story instead of these odd little scenes. Yay.**

**Reviews appreciated! And if you have an account, please log in! I like to reply!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello hello. I've been trying to fit in some writing in and around unpacking. I moved the weekend before my class started and finally have time to unpack. Hooray! This ended up being a much longer chapter than originally intended, but in context it didn't work to break it up into two...**

**Chapter six is in the works and will probably be much shorter.**

**Thank you for your patience.**

**-your obedient servant,**

**S. S.**

* * *

Another month had passed and still I received no form of payment. I regretted having done it, but I had written my father asking him for money. He of course questioned why, but what could I tell him? That I was staying on in a position that paid nothing for the sake of a four-month-old deformed child? That I was needed by someone and no amount of abuse and tiring chores could make me leave for fear of a life lost?

And I truly did fear that possibility. It was December and the attic had grown intolerably cold. Erik had developed a terrible chest catarrh and coughed constantly. I had gone many nights without sleep in my attempts to soothe him, but nothing worked. I pleaded with Madeleine to call for a doctor, but she refused. Erik's symptoms were unmistakably those of whooping cough—a fatal disease for infants. I tried to recall congestion remedies my mother had used, and decided on broth with hot spices.

How stupid I was. This remedy was not suitable for a baby's stomach and it made the poor boy violently ill. I spent hours sitting on the floor balancing him over the chamber pot while he retched and voided his bowels by turns. When he was not sick, he clung to me and wailed helplessly while I cursed myself for worsening his condition. If he died, it would be my fault and I would never forgive myself. To make matters worse, Madeleine continuously had me running errands, for it was almost Christmas and she wanted everything to be perfect, spoiled brat that she was. In my absence, poor Erik was left alone, scared and screaming.

One afternoon, I was returning with an armful of evergreen garlands and holly when Madeleine met me at the door with crossed arms. From upstairs, I could hear Erik screaming as loud as his infected lungs would allow.

"Erik messed himself on the floor," she stated. "Put down those things and go clean it up."

I dropped the armload of greenery on her precious brocade armchair, retrieved a rag and a bucket of soapy water, and went to inspect the damage. What I found was an overturned chamber pot, and Erik laying fully naked, save for the mask, on a rickety chair that had been placed near an open window. As I rushed to pick him up, I saw red fingermarks, lashes, and scratches, some of which were already bruising. Quickly, I cleaned him off and dressed him in a gown and a blanket, placed him in the cradle, closed the window, and mopped up the mess on the floor before Madeleine could complain. I would never be able to leave Erik alone in the house with her again. But I did all the shopping, and I certainly couldn't take him with me.

Madeleine came stomping up the stairs again. "I already told you I don't care whether he lives or dies, but if you insist on him living, I would at least expect you to teach him to use that thing properly."

Before I could respond, she rolled her eyes and walked away. As soon as she was gone, Erik turned over and reached for me. I picked him up and held him close to warm him, taking a closer look at his wounds. Some of the scratches were deep enough to leave scars. What had she beaten him with? I could not touch him without him crying in pain for a good time after that.

Erik eventually stopped fussing, yawned and snuggled into the crook of my arm. I hummed a few notes of a lullaby my mother had sung to my sisters and me when we were children. Outside, the sky grew dark and a dusting of snow fell lightly to the ground. All was quiet and well.

* * *

Erik pulled through and slowly began his recovery. By Christmas he was almost back to his normal, inquisitive, timid self but was still weak.

I had not received a letter from home in quite some time and wondered if my father and sister were angry that I had asked for money. In any case, I was not going home for Christmas. In rare form, Madeleine had asked me to dine with her on Christmas Eve, as Marie was visiting family in Caen for the season. I dared not protest, fearing that giving her my regrets would lead to my dismissal, all things aside that I really had nowhere to go.

She went as far as helping me prepare dinner. I knew her well enough by now to know that she was only being kind because she wanted something from me. I was uneasy and on my guard all day and by dinnertime I wanted to flee from the table as fast as I could. I could not use having to put Erik to bed as an excuse, he slept most of the time while recovering and was fast asleep now.

"Tell me about your family in Bordeaux," she urged as she passed me the plate of goose. "You've scarcely mentioned anything of them."

"I have three sisters, one older, two younger. My eldest sister is caring for my father, who has not been well since my mother's death."

"_Quel dommage_," she said. "I know how hard it must be for you. I lost my parents to cholera shortly after I was married." I was getting sympathy from the woman who had thrown a tray of hot food in my face just a few short weeks earlier. Will wonders never cease? Of course, I was certain she wasn't sincere. "And how do you get along with them? Are they agreeable?"

"I suppose they are. My parents were kind and had many friends." I replied as I forced myself to swallow a dry bit of meat.

"Had you?"

"Some. Girls I attended school with. But we only talked of trivial things and I never saw them outside of lessons."

"Ah. Trivial things, like the latest fashions, I suppose." She gave a short laugh.

"No, Madame."

"What girl doesn't like to talk of fashions now and then?"

"I went to a religious school, Madame. We were required to wear uniforms and keep our minds on God and our studies at all times."

She gave me a devilish glance and smiled. "As did I. But how different we are! God. Studies. Meanwhile, I was intent on being fashionable, even in my drab uniform. My set of friends adored me and hung on my every word. I was given all sorts of things by my parents…books, hair ribbons, sweets. Didn't yours do the same?"

"No, Madame. My parents rarely visited. They sent me an occasional letter and reminded me to remain focused on my education."

"Ah. And all these books and kneeling on a cold chapel floor every morning before breakfast has made you what you hoped for? A more tolerant and accepting person, is that right?" Again, she flashed her teeth for the briefest of moments before busying herself with the bottle of wine.

"If by tolerant and accepting you mean I do not shun others at a glance because they are homelier than I, then yes. It has." I hoped she wouldn't understand what I was implying, but she did.

"Don't lie to me," she hissed. "I've seen the way you look at him. You're as disgusted as I was. You can't hide your revulsion." She giggled. "It's quite charming, actually. You put on such a grand show and pretend you love him, all for the sake of fooling yourself."

"I am not like you," I growled, and started to rise from my chair. It took all the composure I had not to reach across the table and shake her.

She didn't seem to hear me. "But don't worry. Soon he'll be old enough to get along without a nursemaid. I have plans of sending him to an asylum."

"You wouldn't," I gasped before I could stop myself.

"Oh, I would. And you could keep your position as housemaid and I would begin paying you. Wouldn't that be nice?"

"You promised me English lessons in return for Erik's care until he was older. And I haven't had a single one."

"Do you honestly think I would give you the opportunity to leave when you're the only maid I've had for months? Stupid girl. You'll have pocket money, but I'll see to it that you never get enough to travel."

At her words, I sank back down in my seat. I wanted to cry, but I could not let my true feelings show in her presence. I realized what a stupid thing I had done. I had willingly put myself into indentured servitude—no, slavery, for I could never buy my way out—for the most wicked woman I had ever met. Even when Erik had grown I would still be tied to this household, doing her bidding for quite possibly the rest of my life.

When she had excused me and I went upstairs to bed, I placed my Christmas present to Erik in his arms—a stuffed toy dog I'd made from cotton and scraps of fabric. Holding it close, he looked so innocent.

"Merry Christmas, Erik." I whispered, stroking his cheek. "If only you could understand what I've done for you."

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**Ooh, villainy. *evil hand rub* I wonder if Orianne will get out of this one.**

**And yeah, I felt I had to end this chapter on a bit of Erik cuteness...it was needed. **

**Reviews appreciated. **

**I may also be taking suggestions in awhile, as the next major escapade I have planned won't take place until Erik is about three or so...I need something more than filler and fluff.**

**So yup. There you have it. **

**Till next time, my dears.**


	6. Chapter 6

**This story seems to have disappeared. So I'm going to upload this chapter and see if it comes back.**

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Many months had passed. Erik was nearly a year old now and developing quickly. He spoke in full sentences and could walk, so naturally he followed me everywhere. Madeleine had taken to going away frequently, sometimes with Marie, but more often alone. She hired carriages from heaven knows where and left early in the morning, earlier than she had been previously accustomed to getting out of bed. I could not fathom where she went, but the best I could figure were neighboring towns and villages where no one knew her and where she could escape being denounced as the mother of a demon.

This arrangement suited both of us, I think. She was able to be free of her "burdens", and I was able to spend the day in peace. Erik was elated that he got to roam around the house unmasked and do what a child should, namely, tugging at my skirts and begging me to tell him stories. I gladly complied.

However, there remained a few problems. Madeleine had left all of his upbringing and most of his education to me. I feared that someday he would surpass my knowledge, for even though he was under a year old, he possessed an astonishing brightness. I had but to tell him something once and he remembered, and could repeat it back with accuracy. I was never strict with him, but his mother demanded that I begin teaching him to read and write.

While performed the former with perfect accuracy, I could not get him to write. I knew he could, and most likely he did too. But whenever I placed a pen in his hand, he would fling it across the room in abject fury.

"No, no, no!" he screamed.

"Erik, your mother will be angry with both of us if you don't write." I tried, as I retrieved the pen for the fifth time that day.

"I don't care!"

I thought at first that he refused to hold a pen because his hands were small and his dexterity was not developed yet. I was later to find that he favored his left hand over his right, which Madeleine, at the instruction of Father Mansart, was determined to forbid. I knew from all my years in school that the Devil supposedly controlled the left. I had watched some of my classmates have their left hand beaten and even broken for that very reason. Not knowing what else to do, I postponed his writing lessons.

Madeleine rarely returned home until long after Erik was asleep, so on nights when she was gone, I would build up the fire in the parlor, pull the cushions off the divan, and place them on the floor. Erik would sit in my lap and I would tell him a bedtime story, often with him interrupting to ask questions and guess what happened to the characters.

One night, I made the mistake of telling him the story of the Beauty who fell in love with a beast and turned him into a king. Mid-story, Erik squirmed on my lap and looked up at me.

"Rianne,"—he always called me that, it would remain his pet name for me—"Am I the Beast?"

"Of course not!" realizing my mistake.

"Why does Mama make me wear a mask?"

"Because…" I faltered.

"You don't wear one."

"I…" it was to be the first time I would lie to him, and I hated doing it. "Young children need to protect their faces, because the light could hurt them."

"Oh." With that, he settled into my lap again. "I don't like this story."

I didn't either, not anymore. What had compelled me to tell him this one? Was it my useless hopes that someday, others besides myself would love him? Or something else? The clock struck nine. Madeleine would soon be home. I rearranged the cushions and carried Erik upstairs. After he was asleep, I found myself sitting in the faded old armchair by the door, nodding off while reading by the light of a single, fading candle until I heard the bell on the door. Her Majesty was home and, as usual, had either forgotten the key or could not be bothered.

"Good evening, Madame. Did you enjoy yourself?" I asked as I took her cloak.

"Perfectly lovely. I can't tell you how good it is to go away for the day and be free to do whatever I please." She looked oddly gleeful in a way that made me not want to ask any further questions.

"Did Mademoiselle Perrault accompany you today?"

"No. She rarely does anymore, boring little thing. She accuses me of being irresponsible," Her eyebrow twitched in a dismissive manner.

"Do you require anything more, Madame?" I asked as I hung up her cloak.

"No, Orianne. You may go to bed. You must be tired."

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**So yeah, I'm a tad curious and concerned to see what happened to this. As always, reviews appreciated as well as PM so I know that you all can see this.**

**S. S.**


	7. Chapter 7

**All righty... I had to rewrite about half this chapter to tone down the unnecessary...ahem...intensity that made absolutely no sense (I swear, I have no idea why I thought that was a good idea at four in the morning). I haven't been on top of my game lately. But enough of my griping. Let's get this party started. **

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Two things happened around the time that I thought Erik must be a year old or maybe a bit older. Neither was anything I had been hoping for. The first was that, after approximately eight months, I received a letter from my sister. She wrote that everyone was well and missed me terribly, and asked what I was doing that I could not come home for a visit. She hoped I had not fallen into a bad trade, and questioned whether or not it would be wise for her to visit me.

The tone of her letter left me uneasy. How could I reply? She sounded anxious to see me again, and though I did want to visit with her and my father, I didn't see how that was possible, especially if, as my sister was wont to do, she came here on a whim.

For days, I remained on edge, dreading a knock on the door, fearing what Madeleine might do if they showed unexpectedly and what it might mean for me and my ever-growing precarious position in this house. Erik trailed after me, as he always did, but I had not the heart to tell him stories or play. I became utterly distracted and lost my nerve one day when the dreaded knock on the door finally did come.

It was neither my father nor my sister at the door. I was dumbfounded as I stared at a gangly, awkward boy about my age. No visitors ever came to this house besides Marie and the priest. Who was this boy?

I got my answer when Madeleine entered behind me.

"Ah, you're here! Good. I think Orianne needs a day out."

I was cowed. "Madame, who is he?"

"This is Arnaud. He is going to take you into Rouen for the day, to pick up some things I purchased."

"I couldn't possibly…"

"Don't be absurd," she said, after pulling me back inside. In a low voice, she continued, "I will stay home today. Erik will be perfectly safe." She smiled. I knew that smile. It meant trouble. But before I could protest any further, she had thrust my cloak at me and shoved me out the door.

Arnaud led me out to a rickety, dirty wagon, climbed in first, and hauled me up, grabbing my bottom on the way. I was to find out that he was the single most disgusting person I would ever meet. For the entire journey, he alternately picked at spots and his nose and wiped the findings on his sleeve. He snorted and spat. It was a good twenty minutes or so before he was inclined to say anything.

When he did speak, the first thing he said was, "I hear you're the monster's nurse."

For the sake of my protection, I replied, "I am Madame Claudin's housekeeper. I heard tell of the monster child, but have never seen it. I suspect it either died or was sent to an asylum before I was employed." I hoped my face did not betray me.

"Good riddance," he hawked and spat into the road. "But that doesn't explain why no one ever sees her in the village."

"She is widowed and misses her husband terribly. It grieves her to think that she must live without him."

"You'd think she was an old grandmother," he snorted. "Anyway, we're supposed to pick up some carpets and a lamp."

It was silent for the rest of the journey. When we got to Rouen, he insisted on stopping at a restaurant which served the cheapest and worst of foods, meaning I had to sit through a meal with him and watch him eat like a pig at a trough. I picked at a bread roll and drank some watery wine, but I had no appetite.

When he finally decided to conduct what business we had come to do, he did nothing but argue with everyone, the clerks, the moving-men, and the shopkeepers.

Pulling a dirty, finger-printed list from his pocket, he continually asked "Is this the right…" or "Is that the style she ordered?" I didn't know why Madeleine had sent me or how much more of this I had to endure.

It was nearing dusk when we left Rouen, and the darkening sky seemed somehow ominous. There was no moon, and all was darkness save for the lantern tied to the front of the wagon. It wasn't long before I realized we had gotten lost in the dark and were somewhere in a wood. The horses faltered and spooked as an owl called and Arnaud tugged on the reins.

"We'll have to stop here," he said. "I hope you don't mind."

"Of course I mi…" I began, but before I could finish, Arnaud clapped a hand over my mouth.

His voice took on a different tone when he next spoke. "I was hoping you'd catch on, but you haven't. I know—everyone knows—that that _thing_ is still alive. It's a small town. Everyone knows everyone else's business. The madam keeps him locked up in the house for safety, but someday she'll forget. I'd advise you to leave, mademoiselle, before anything happens. You and they are the lowest of the low, and most of the village would have no qualms about disposing of you all. Or, if you really do care for it, take it far away. Someday soon they'll come for him, and mark my words, none of you will be left alive."

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked, as he uncovered my mouth.

"Consider yourself warned, Mademoiselle. But rest assured, I'm an ally."

"An ally for what?"

"I've heard enough talk. There are plans. I won't tell you this again. Be on your guard."

"So your bumbling idiocy was all an act?"

"I thought it might be better if you thought me simple. You might feel less threatened." he said sheepishly. With a flick of the reins, we continued on.

As we approached, I could see that the house was completely dark. No lamps were lit, no candles in the window. I hoped the door had been left unlocked. Taking the lantern, I jumped down ungracefully from the seat and rushed to the door, which, thankfully, was unlocked.

"Do you want me to come in?" Arnaud shouted.

"No, just leave everything by the door." I called. I didn't want him coming in, worrying that he would steal something and I would be blamed.

He carried the things to the door and almost tossed them inside. I stood in the doorway still holding a lamp when he ran down the drive, jumped in the wagon, and drove off. Feeling odd, I put down the lamp and staggered outside. The full weight of what he had told me was too much for me to bear. I collapsed on the ground and emptied my stomach behind the rosebushes.

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**Well, what a pleasant fellow. Should I make him a recurring character?**

**I had no idea what I was thinking for he entire last half of this chapter. I think it's pretty obvious.**

**Apologies for my snarkiness.**

**Please review.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hello, my lovelies. It's been too long. This will probably be my last update for awhile, maybe a couple of months, depending on how things play out...I've also been tweaking the story line a bit, as I originally intended for the events in this chapter to happen much later. But I was getting sick of writing filler. **

**Without further hesitation...here's chapter eight. **

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The house was not only dark, but eerily silent. I lit a candlestick and raced up the stairs. Madeleine was nowhere to be found and Erik was soundless. My heart leapt into my throat as I climbed the stairs to the attic, to find Sasha asleep at the now claw-marked door. I turned the knob only to find it locked. Madeleine had taken the key. Frantically, I pounded on the door.

"Erik, it's me, are you in there?" I called.

"Rianne?" his quiet voice asked. Then he burst into tears. "The door is closed!"

My fingers clawed at my hair and removed a pin, which I shakily put into the lock. "Erik, I'm getting the door unlocked. Don't worry."

"Rianne, I'm scared!"

"I know." I said. So was I. "When did your Mama leave?"

"It was light," he said. "I'm hungry and thirsty and I have togo."

Even though he could walk and talk, eating and relieving himself were things he needed my help with. Anyway, he'd had no access to food. If it was still light when she left, he must have been in agony by now.

Finally, the door gave way. Erik stood shakily before me, unmasked, tears rolling down his little sunken cheeks. Then he fell. I rushed to pick him up, carefully setting the candle down on the sewing table.

"She was cross," he sobbed.

"Shh," I soothed. I carried him around with me as I lit all the candles in the room. Long into the night, I sat in the armchair with him, stroking his hair and rocking him. I knew he was hungry, but if he ate now he would be sick. I had never seen him this upset. It moved me so, and for the first time since my mother had died, I wept. For him, for me…for both of us.

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Madeleine did not return for days. She knew that someone was coming for us, and in her cowardice, fled to save her own skin. I was left alone with Erik, never letting him out of my sight, distracted and pacing. If I was killed first, what would happen to him? Inevitably, he would be tortured before being granted the mercy of death. Such cruelty should never happen, least of all to a child. _Be on your guard,_ Arnaud had said. _I won't tell you again._

I tried to keep Erik occupied, but he knew something was wrong. He was unusually quiet, soundless as he toyed with Madeleine's clocks and took them apart, which I was sure would make her furious. But for once I feared more than her anger. I wanted to leave.

In the middle of the night, Arnaud came once again to warn me, though he said he wouldn't. I awoke to the flinging of pebbles at the window. He stood in the yard, looking up at me.

"Rianne, what's that noise?" asked Erik, who woke at the slightest sound.

"Someone outside," I said. "I'm going to go see who it is." I threw on my dressing gown and hurried down the back stairs. Arnaud shifted from foot to foot, gritting his teeth anxiously as I led him inside.

"You must leave immediately," he said. "They're planning something. I don't know what or when, but it will be soon. We must leave tonight. I have the wagon behind that stand of trees." He pointed. "Where is he? The boy?"

"Upstairs, asleep." I said. "Why are you helping me?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "I…I don't agree with them. It's wrong." He paused. "Go get him. Make sure he doesn't make a sound. Have you anyone you can write to, anywhere to go? You can only stay in Rouen for so long. A freak child is sure to draw attention."

"I'll write to my sister," I replied as I rushed back upstairs. Hastily, I scrawled a note to Marie, to let her know what had happened. Then I dressed, shoving my nightgown and clothes for myself and Erik into a valise. Then I woke him.

"Erik," I said, not wanting to alarm him. "We're going on a trip now. You can sleep, but I wanted to tell you."

"Why?"

"I'll tell you later, but you must be quiet." I whispered.

"All right."

I covered him in my shawl, went downstairs and left food and water for the dog, and then hurried out the backdoor to the waiting carriage, locking the bolt securely behind me. Arnaud carefully pulled me into the wagon, but insisted that I lay in the back until we were out of town. The wagon jostled and creaked down the overgrown road. I prayed Erik would stay calm.

It was nearly dawn when we reached Rouen. Erik had been asleep in my arms for hours. Arnaud kept his eyes averted from the child bundled under my cloak. He did not want to admit to ever seeing him.

"I've found a place for you to stay," he said, at long last. He drew out his watch to check the time. It was nearly six-thirty. "There's a boarding house on the Rue d'Amiens. It's run by an old family friend."

"Oh, thank you. You didn't have to go to this much trouble."

"I did. Do you know what trouble you might have caused, an unmarried woman running around the city with a baby? A _deformed_ baby?" He didn't need to add to it. I was already well aware how bad it would have looked. "You'll stay in until your family comes for you, won't you?"

"What choice do I have?" Then something struck me. "Arnaud, do you know if they keep mirrors in the rooms?"

"How would I know? I suppose. Why?"

"Erik has never seen a mirror and I don't particularly want him to."

"Ah."

When we arrived, he rang the bell and went inside while I waited. I hoped Erik would not wake before we got inside. After what seemed like hours, Arnaud came back out and gathered my only bag.

"There is one room left. You're lucky. I've already paid for your room and meals for five days, any more than that, and they'll send me a bill. How long do you think it'll take your family to come here?" He seemed breathless as he helped me down from the seat.

"How long do you think it takes to get here by carriage from Bordeaux?"

"I don't know…perhaps three days. I suggest you send a letter today."

That reminded me of the note I had written for Marie. I quickly drew it from my sleeve and handed it to him. "When you return to Boscherville, will you please give this to Marie Perrault? It explains our whereabouts. I thought someone should know."

He unrolled it, glanced it over, and looked up at me. "Is Marie Perrault a friend?"

"Of Madame Claudin, yes."

"All right." He pocketed the note. "Good luck, Orianne." He flicked the horse's reins and was gone.

I stood for a long minute facing the building before going in. With a deep breath, I climbed the stairs and entered. The woman who met me at the door looked disturbed to see a woman and child alone. Arnaud had been right. With a heavy sigh, she led me up two flights of rickety stairs to a small room containing a bed, washstand, table, and wardrobe. There was a small mirror hanging above the washstand. I immediately took it down and put it in the wardrobe facing the wall and covered it with my valise.

Erik did not wake for some time, and I used the opportunity to write a letter to my sister.

_My dear Sylvie, _

_I do not wish to inconvenience you, but I must insist on coming home for a while. I may be—I am—in danger. I am traveling with an orphan child who was given to my care, as we have been driven from his hometown. As of now I am in Rouen, in a boarding house called Le Carrier. There are those who wish the child harm, and me with him. My room and board has been paid until Tuesday, but I do not think I will be safe until then. Please come for me as soon as you receive this letter._

_ Ever faithfully,_

_ Orianne_

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**Unfortunately, my faithful readers, I leave you with a bit of a cliffhanger. Hopefully that won't be a huge letdown, but in the meantime, I will be taking suggestions for what I should do with this story.**_  
_

**Until better times, I bid you adieu.**

**-S. S. **


	9. Chapter 9

**I'm baaaaack! **

**I've been working on my Hobbit fics and one for Nightmare before Christmas. Had some major writer's block with this story. I'm tempted to start another, darker, Leroux/Kay-based one, but I've got too many stories to keep track of already...**

**I give you fair warning, this chapter probably makes no sense. I wrote half of it about two months ago and finished it today. I kind of lost track of where I was going with this, but I think I generally have it back on track. This is just an awkward bridging chapter. **

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Four days later, Sylvie arrived in my father's landau, accompanied by Georges, the manservant. I was upstairs breakfasting when the serving maid came up to tell me that I had a visitor.

"She says it is urgent, Mademoiselle, and that you must leave immediately."

"I've been expecting her," I said. Folding my clothes into my valise, I picked up Erik, who had been watching curiously from the bed. Hurrying down the stairs, I was met with the innkeeper on the way out.

"I trust all my expenses have been paid?" I asked.

"Yes, mademoiselle. The young man saw to it." He answered. "Will that be all?"

"Yes, thank you. I must be going."

Kicking up dust as I hurried down the stairs, I must have looked a mess. My companions were confused upon my request that the carriage roof be put up, as the weather was calm and sunny. Sylvie seemed unnerved by both my appearance and Erik, who I kept safely tucked under the fold of my cloak. He was still asleep when we pulled away and began our journey home. All this running away had tired him out. But no matter, it afforded me some conversation.

"What has happened to you?" asked Sylvie. "You have lost weight. You look…gaunt." My perfect sister, in her lace gown, was the picture of elegance. Chestnut hair, that I had always been jealous of, arranged in intricate curls, perfect lily-white skin on an elegant face. I had always been the plainest of my sisters, having inherited my father's dark blonde hair and muddy eyes. But to hear her call me gaunt was almost insulting. She had always been so kind.

"The child's mother disappeared…there is a price on our heads, Sylvie."

"I thought you said he was orphaned."

"He might as well be, for all his mother cares about him. You don't want to know what state I found him in when I first arrived."

She raised an eyebrow. "Why is there a price on your heads, exactly? Why did you make me come here?"

I dared not lift Erik's mask to show her, he would surely wake. "He…his face is severely disfigured. The villagers are very superstitious. I was told from a reliable source that they had organized a coup."

"And were coming with torches and pitchforks, I suppose." She rolled her eyes. "Orianne, this is not the middle ages. And even if it were, you wouldn't risk your life for the sake of his…would you?"

"Yes."

"For pity's sake, why?"

"He is an extraordinary child. He cannot be yet two, and already he can walk and talk perfectly. He reads, he draws, he loves music. He's enchanted by it."

She stared at me. "I fail to see your point," she said coldly. Was everyone to turn against me?

"He will be brilliant someday," I added. "I'm sure of it."

For a moment or two, she was silent, but irritated. The corner of her mouth twitched as she drummed her fingers on the sill.

"Father is ill," she burst out suddenly. "And all you care about is this _child_, who is no relation to you, and whom you think will be great someday?"

I realized just then how far removed I had been from my family these many months—a year, and then some. But why had she not told me? Her last letter had said that everyone was well.

"I figured you were doing something important, not gaining a new family." Her voice rose. "You act as if he is your own! Unless….what _have _you been doing all this time?"

"Looking after him, I told you." I said somewhat meekly.

"And how am I to know he is not yours?" she spat. This was so unlike her. Perhaps caring for Father had driven her to this. "You never cared so much about any of us!"

"Sylvie! How dare you!" I could have struck her. The volume of our conversation had risen to accusatory shouting which, unsurprisingly, had woken Erik. He shifted from his place under my cloak, peeking his head out to look around.

"Rianne?" he cried. "We're moving! Where are we going?"

"We're going on a little trip, to visit my family." I said, trying to calm the frantic child. "This is my sister, Sylvie."

He waved shyly and gave her a smile which I found charming, but which caused her to shrink back against the seat, a hand pressed to her mouth. The look of pure horror in her eyes made me trail my gaze down to the little boy in my lap. Somehow, he had gotten his mask off. I hadn't noticed, as he was seated facing my sister. She stared at him in pure terror and hatred, the exact look I'd seen in Madeleine's eyes countless times before. But I'd never expected my own sister to react this way. She had changed, and not for the better.

After a moment, Erik began to realize that what she was gaping at was him. I saw his lip tremble, and I drew him to me, muffling his cries in my shoulder. Sylvie gave a disgusted sniff, and I began to see that my homecoming was not going to be the happy occasion I'd expected.

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"Orianne, all he does is cry! I'm not seeing the genius child that you do, I can't even look at him!" Sylvie cried when we reached the inn in Gacé that night. It was after midnight when we'd stopped, and we'd been traveling at a heart-rattling speed all day. Erik had finally fallen asleep after hours of asking why "Mam'selle Sylvie" was frightened of him.

"Mam'selle Sylvie, why are you afraid of me?" he'd asked her bravely. "Mama is frightened of me too."

"She should be," Sylvie sneered.

"Sylvie!" I warned. "Stop."

She crossed her arms sourly and looked out onto the landscape, refusing to address either of us until under cover of darkness.

"Orianne," she asked as we stepped out of the carriage that night. "For God's sake, _why_? Why do you care? The child should be in a freak show!"

"He's very sensitive. Please, Sylvie, don't antagonize him. He only wants someone to love him."

"Well, he has you. That's enough. Don't expect me to look after him!" She stepped haughtily over the threshold and swept up the stairs after Georges, who carried our luggage.

I could only hope she'd have a change of heart.

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**I have very little to say about this... I'm starting to wonder if I should even continue with this story. **

**Reviews appreciated!**

**Your obedient servant, **

**S. S.**


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